


On the Side of the Angels

by 0hHeyThereBigBadWolf



Series: Alleluia! [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Demon Dean, Demon Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 23:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12994833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf/pseuds/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf
Summary: Beaten, fallen, and with his Grace nearly gone, Castiel is all but helpless in the grip of the new King of Hell and the boy with the demon blood, but giving in might not be so bad.





	On the Side of the Angels

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I’ve noticed there’s been a lot of debate as to whether or not Castiel’s nickname is ‘Cas’ or ‘Cass.’ I’ve had people message me on other fanfiction sites I’ve posted on about the spelling of it, some even rudely. Now, here’s my thing:  
> • I turn on the subtitles on my _Supernatural_ DVD—it’s Cass.  
>  • In _Bobby Singer’s Guide to Hunting_ —it’s Cass.  
> • In _The Men of Letters Bestiary: Winchester Family Edition_ (which is formatted as if written by Sam and Dean themselves)—it’s Cass.  
>  • In my other _Supernatural_ novels—it’s Cass.  
>  So, to me, the nickname is Cass. If you think it should be the other way, fine. Kindly do not message me about it. Seems a silly thing to have to put in the notes, but there it is.

_"And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat.  
_ _I tried to find the sound,  
_ _But then it stopped, and I was in the darkness,  
_ _So darkness I became."_  
(Cosmic Love—Florence + The Machine)

 

Hanging from chains and shackles in a cell warded from angels, Castiel could feel his weakened Grace fluttering with him, trying to heal him, but he had lost so much strength, had fallen so far, that it didn't do much of anything, except perhaps slow the bleeding of a few wounds. The demons that'd captured him had beaten him nearly to death; had he been human, he would already be dead. He wondered what had become of Hannah, as the last he'd seen of her, she'd been surrounded by several more demons, some of which held stolen angel blades. He looked up through his lashes, feeling so very weak and weary as the door of the cell swung open, and the demon responsible for this approached him: Dean Winchester. Seeing the steadfast hunter, the Righteous Man, ruling over this pit of squalor and iniquity made him burn with misery and shame.

"Awake, Cass? Good. I'm gonna keep it short and sweet, alright? Here's the thing: I don't like you like this, angel. Factory make-and-model, it's crap. I actually preferred you when your noodle was fucked up six ways to Sunday. At least then you were funny," the demon said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "So here's what's going to happen next. Sammy's going to go get my toys, and when he gets back, I'm going to play Operation on your brain. Sammy's been dying to know what Alistair taught me, so he'll get to watch. And once I have you nice and broken in…we're gonna rock the world, Cass. The three of us. It'll be something to see, huh?"

It was a vain hope, but he had to try. "Dean, please, don't do this. You are not yourself. We can give you the cure. The Mark has corrupted—"

The demon struck him across the face with such force that dark spots clouded the edges of Castiel's vision for several moments before clearing. "I know exactly what the Mark's done, Cass. It's set me free. And you act like I even want to be cured. Personally, I like the disease. Such utter liberation. Trust me, you're gonna love it," it said.

 _"Exorcizamus te omnis immundus spiritus—"_ Castiel began, blood running from his mouth and nose, but the demon laughed aloud, startling him.

"You think that's gonna work? Nah. Check it out, Angel." The demon pulled open the collar of its shirt. On its collarbone, opposite the anti-possession tattoo, an intricate, powerful devil's trap had been tattooed into its skin. "Ta-da. Nobody's smoking me out. And even if you did, then you'd be left with nothing but an empty body. I'm not possessed. I'm just _me."_ It smiled at Castiel.

_"Cristo."_

All at once, the demon's eyes filled with blackness, a hiss escaping it as it recoiled sharply in pain. With a low growl _,_ it reached forward and seized a fistful of Castiel’s hair, pulling his head back at a borderline agonizing angle. With its other hand, the demon drew the First Blade and laid the edge against his throat, human skin so fragile, so easy to break. After a tense moment's deliberation, the demon lowered the Blade. "I'll sweeten the pot for you, Cass. If you're a good little angel, then I'll give you your Grace back when I'm done with you."

Castiel’s eyes widened. "What…what did you say?"

"Your Grace. What, did you honestly think that _I_ couldn't find it, if I really, really tried?" The demon grasped the silver chain around its neck and pulled until it came free of its shirt. At the end of the chain dangled a small vial, framed in tooled silver etched with Enochian, glowing ethereal blue-white from the Grace that swirled, trapped, within the angel-forged glass.

A soft gasp escaped his lips, staring at his stolen Grace; it was his own, he knew it was, for the tattered remnants still clinging within him ached with yearning to be rejoined, the vial glowing brighter at their proximity. To see it within the hands of a demon filled him with an ingrained revulsion, yet the sensation conflicted sharply with the desire to protect Dean, the companionship that they had built. How humans ever lived with this constant battle of emotion within them never failed to amaze him. "Where did you get that?"

The demon smirked, its eyes flaring black once more in response to the divine light of the Grace. "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, Cass. So now you've seen the carrot." It tucked the chain and vial back beneath its shirt, and Castiel couldn't help the weak groan that escaped his throat. "Time for the stick."

What sticks and vegetables had to do with any of this, he didn't know. The demon opened the door, leaning out into the corridor. "Sammy! It's go time!" it called loudly, and then Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood, came into the room, pushing a large wheeled cart that rattled as it moved, hosting such a wide variety of items, all used for torture in some way or another. Alistair's tool kit. Castiel felt a new surge of pain, of disappointment and loathing and regret, swirled together within his chest, at seeing Sam in the holds of the demonic as well. He had failed them both, as he had failed everyone, and he let his head hang low between his shoulders.

"I've always wondered," the creature said, holding up what appeared to be an electric drill, a piece of human hardware. "How many screws does it take to get to the centre of an angel? Sammy, thoughts?"

"I dunno. Let's find out," the other replied eagerly, bouncing on the balls of its feet with an almost childlike enthusiasm.

"No time like the present. C'mon, kiddo, and I'll show you how to _really_ torture someone."

Hanging from his shackles, Castiel noted, as all guardians are made to note their charges, that now, as demons, Sam and Dean were acting more like brothers than they had for years as humans.


End file.
